


Girl Without Fear

by maukree



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Future Fic, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Canon, Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-04
Updated: 2015-10-04
Packaged: 2018-04-24 20:34:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4934341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maukree/pseuds/maukree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“It's not the end of the world.”<br/>And it isn't. He can live without being with her, he just can't live without her by his side.</p><p>It's been over a month since events in Mt. Weather and things have started to settle down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Girl Without Fear

It's been over a month since events in Mt. Weather and things have started to settle down. Camp Jaha has grown, it feels more like a village now. They've cleaned it up, secured it as much as they could and construction is on the way to make sure they can survive at least one winter without moving out and looking for a permanent place. Grounders haven't left, not all of them, but they no longer intrude. There were sightings, nothing serious - no dead or injured by the tribesmen. Without threat of a permanent danger everything is almost normal. Almost. Bellamy still can't shake the feeling that they are not there just yet. That trouble is out there, they simply got a temporary break, and sooner or later there will be a fight for their lives again. If Bellamy is honest with himself, he's nearly looking forward to that. 

 

Clarke is still away, somewhere out there in the woods, feeding her guilt with unnecessary exile. Bellamy understands her more than anyone else could. Hell, he was there with her, his hand on hers, pulling down the lever. It's fifty-fifty for the guilt as far as he's concerned, but even for him leaving the camp seems excessive. He worries, keeps looking into the distance during his perimeter shifts, eyes searching. She will return, that Bellamy is sure of – with her constant demand to know what's going on, almost compulsive need to protect those she cares about, Clarke wouldn't be able to stay away for long, not now when everything is still unsure, not when future seems foggy. She will return unless she's dead. 

 

He is so sure she will return eventually, maybe even soon, that when she actually does, it completely blindsides him. He's coming back from a hunting trip, they had a good one, two uniforms are carrying game behind him and Monroe. There will be a barbecue tonight, one for the books, empty eyes of a massive deer are staring into the autumn evening sky. Monroe is hurt and bandage on her left arm is nearly soaked in blood. She whines and he is carrying her spear, cursing how careless she's been. Maybe next time he'll take someone else with him instead. Monroe is brave, she's one of the people Bellamy trusts to cover his back, but she is still small, gets injured easier. There is a buzz around the camp, people are taking in groups, something has happened. He doesn't stop to ask what's going on, Abby will tell him if it's anything important. They make their way into the medical bay, leaving weapons in the cage at the entrance to the Alpha Station, and then he sees  _her_ , sitting on one of the beds, her mom checking vitals, working on minor scrapes and bruises. Just like that. 

“Clarke!” Monroe is running to her, forgetting about the wound, nearly knocking her of the seat, hugging, smiling. 

Bellamy is suddenly frozen at the doorstep, looking at Abby's happy face, at Clarke's shocked expression, as Monroe is holding on to her, both arms wrapped around her shoulders, red braids on blond hair.

“You're back”, Monroe finally lets go, but doesn't step away, hovering like an excited kid.

“I am back”, Clarke shifts and she looks embarrassed, small smile in the corner of her mouth.

“You're hurt”, she frowns then, standing up and moving away, gesturing at the bed, “I am finished. Sit.”

And she's about to leave, giving Abby “we'll talk later” look. Apologetic.

Clarke walks past him, touching him on the way out, her hand gripping leather jacket, fingers brushing his arm as she lets go. He follows. He always did that, even when they were equal leaders – followed Clarke, just like the rest. 

She's quiet, careful, and there is a new fluidity to her movement that he didn't see before. He sounds like a bear walking behind, army boots hitting metal on the floor with a loud “thum”. Clarke's making her way up the stairs and he watches her, still mute, for some reason unable to come up with anything fitting to say. She's back and he didn't expect it. Not now, maybe tomorrow or the day after that, maybe a month later or even a year, but this… He's lost. Unprepared. He tries to think about what could've happened to her during this time and draws blank. She looks healthy, content even, calm. And he can't believe it's really her.

They get to the top of the station, the hatch is open, and moments later she is already at the edge, looking at the lake spread before them, lights from two guard towers reflecting in the pool of water. For a second, when he thinks she might jump, he runs a few steps and then stops – she is sitting down and turns to him, inviting. 

They stay at the edge for a few minutes, small space between them, until she moves closer, putting her head on his shoulder, eyes closing. There is nothing to say, not now, and all Bellamy can do is put his arm around her. “I am glad you're back” is not going to do it, so all he does is sighs and draws her in closer, smelling her hair, kissing her on the top of the head like a brother would, like he kissed Octavia many times. Only she's not Octavia and Bellamy is not Clarke's brother. 

He's not sure what they are now. They were rivals and leaders, council to each other. He saved her life and she saved his. He watched her heal and kill – out of mercy and out of self-preservation. He radiated level five with her to get their people out of the damn mountain and he let her go afterwards when all he really wanted was to drag her inside the camp, make sure she's safe. They are accomplices more than anything else, more than friends, and he feels satisfied now that she's by his side again. 

 

It's a few hours later and a barbecue turned into a welcome back party. They are happy to see her alive – even Jasper, even O. Bellamy is by the campfire, biting into the roasted deer meat, not feeling the taste, not noticing how sizzling hot food is. Clarke is around, he sees her hair flash in the crowd mostly made up from the remainder of their original group. Underage criminals that came so far it's almost impossible to recognize them now. His sister is a black and white example of how much they've changed, he never sees her without a weapon, without a tall shadow of Lincoln next to her. And he is proud, not just of her, but of all of them. They've assimilated. They have duties, responsibilities and a say when it comes to making decisions. And, most importantly, now they have Clarke again. 

She talks to everyone, greets them all. If he didn't know her better, if he wasn't used to noticing the smallest expression in her eyes, he could say that it's almost like the old times – when all they had to do was survive, not deal with the consequences of choices they had to make to do it. But there is something about her that's new, not just the way she moves now. She is detached, that he can tell for sure. She is pretending. 

He had to deal with what they did surrounded by friends and allies. She went through it alone. He isn't buying this calmness, that mask glued to her face like a permanent wall. Bellamy wants to touch her, give her a hug and tell her that eventually she will be able to live with pulling that lever. He gets up every morning, brushes off the nightmares that wouldn't stop hunting him in the night, and goes about his business as usual. But then again, he is a bigger monster than she is. 

“Did you tell her?” Octavia walks up to him, food on the plate, glass of water in the other hand. She sips the drink and looks at him with question in her eyes.

“That I went looking for her? No.” Bellamy shrugs, taking another bite, ignoring all knowing expression that only a sister could have. 

“You should.”

“It doesn't matter now”, he really thinks that, “She's back. She knows she was missed. She knows no one wanted her to do.”

“And does she know how much you needed her to stay?”

He leaves that one unanswered. 

 

It's almost dawn when party finally breaks up. Remainder of the barbecue is gathered up and brought to the kitchen, the campfire is put down, cups and bottles are taken away too. Bellamy and Clarke are among the last ones to go. He's tired, she looks exhausted. He assumes she's staying with Abby, at least until they find her a corner to make hers – space is tight, they keep accommodations inside electric fence. They walk shoulder to shoulder towards the station, her hand touching the back of his as they move. Silence is almost awkward, so many things could be said, but none needs to be said out loud. At the entrance, he stalls, stopping. 

“You're to the right”, he gestures, “Abby's courters are just behind the medbay”.

“You're to the left”, she nods.

He waits. Not sure for what, but it seems redundant to tell her goodnight. Bellamy knows that even in the comfort of being with a parent (a luxury these days for so many of them), she is not going to have a good sleep. He doesn't. 

“If you want...” he begins.

“Yeah”, she answers almost immediately. 

He takes the lead and it's her turn to follow. After Mt. Weather Kane issued him a private room. A broom closet, if you must, but it's another luxury in the camp. He has a small bunk with a thin mattress, a corner table for the lamp and a few books. 

“What can I say”, he spreads his arms, touching the sides of the walls, once they're inside “I've asked for the penthouse, but none were available at such a short notice”.

Clarke stays by the door, there might be a meter or so to maneuver. Looking around, her gaze stops at the book he is currently reading. English-French dictionary.

“It's not helping, not really”, he says that before she could ask, “But some words are similar.” 

She nods again and he's not sure what to do next. Bellamy looks at her – with messy blond hair he would recognize anywhere, scrape on the cheek from a tree brunch ( he has too many himself not to know where it came from), and hands pressed to her hips, looking for pant pockets that are not there. 

“It's OK, I won't tell anyone”, his voice is low, almost a whisper, and she steps towards him and buries her face between his neck and a chest. 

“It's OK”, he finally hugs her, maybe a little to hard, too possessive, but Clarke doesn't seem to mind.

“You are home now, it's over”, he keeps saying it all over again, repeating it until she cries and he can feel wet of her soundless tears with his skin – burning him. 

 

They don't sleep for hours after she's finished and her eyes are red and puffy, face patchy from crying. He talks. Half sitting at the top of the bed, feet still in boots above the blanket, he holds Clarke in his arms, her back leaning on his chest. Bellamy tells her everything that has happened since she left. About Jasper beating him until his face was bloody. About letting Jasper do it because he deserved it. About how two days afterwards they went back to the mountain and buried the dead.

“We took all the supplies we needed. Weapons, meds, blankets, clothes, rations. There is a garden on the north-side of the camp now and I can bet my hat on the fact that Monty is growing more than potatoes in his part of the greenhouse. Wick and Raven got a few small generators and pulled as much as they could from anything that plugs in. They're building something big in the lab – when they are not fighting or fucking. We could have stayed in the mountain, it's safe now, but...”

There is a lot too tell, and he doesn't stop, because she doesn't want him too. He tells her about Octavia being pregnant, his talk with Lincoln, joy and fear of becoming an uncle – another Blake family special. He tells of nightmares he's having, about how he tries to tire himself to a point until he could hit the sheets without being afraid to wake up screaming. 

“I don't dream when exhausted to a point of passing out. At least not for the first part of the night.”

She listens and in a long while he is completely honest with another human being. There is nothing to hide, there is nothing that would scare her away, because they are on the same page. Completely. 

When she drifts off, head heavy on his chest, he lets her sleep even when his back becomes numb. He shifts a little, getting as comfortable as possible and eventually, when fresh smell of forest and pine coming from Clarke puts him to sleep, he doesn't dream.

 

It takes a few days to adjust to change. Clarke is different now, she's staying away from the leadership, and Bellamy can't help but feel that maybe it's best for both of them. He's not a guard and doesn't have set schedule – a perimeter shift once in a while maybe. He hunts most of the time, bringing meat to the new and improved smokehouse in the kitchen. They don't need supplies as desperately as before, but eventually what they have will finish if they don't replenish when given an opportunity. Octavia still hunts with Lincoln, and Bellamy couldn't stop her if he tried. She is a warrior now, they carry the blade until it's time to bring a new life into this world. Or something like that, he didn't really listen. Bellamy knows how stubborn she is and Lincoln would rather die than let something bad happen to her and their unborn baby. 

Clarke stays in the camp – helping Abby with minor injuries and therapy for those who still need care after the last three months on the ground. She comes to his bunk after symbolical lights out (they are never actually out, not outside anyways) and stays until it's time to go for breakfast. Sometimes he talks more, remembering little bits and pieces that he didn't tell her before. Answers small amount of questions that she has about the setup of the camp. 

Bellamy doesn't feel a need to ask where she went. She'll tell him one day, he's sure. And if she doesn't, he could live with that, he lives with worser things. 

They touch each other when passing in the corridors inside the station. A small brush of hands. “I know you're here for me” doesn't cover it. Since she came back they're closer now, a comfort blanket for each other and it doesn't hurt his masculinity to admit to himself that he needs it. He needs her so much he looks her out in the camp when free from hunting. Bellamy is not even looking for an excuse to come to the medbay, he just shows up and stays there for a few minutes, watching her work or do paperwork. Abby is organizing now, making Clarke fill in patient records, do health evaluations on everyone inside the camp. There were some problems with nervous breakdowns when Arc has landed. Agoraphobia was on the list of issues this not so passing generation wasn't supposed to deal with. But they are here now and if Bellamy wished his (their) courters were bigger, others are looking for small spaces to hide from the big bad world outside. 

 

After one of his visits to the medbay Abby catches up with him. She is straight-forward, that's where Clarke got it from, and her directness is like a hammer on a kneecap. 

“Are you sleeping with my daughter?”

He's stricken by surprise, although it was to be expected, there must be are all sorts of rumors floating about them two. He stares at Abby though, not sure how to explain it all.

“No,” he says, “she stays with me, but we are not having sex, if that's what you're asking”.

He is embarrassed, blushing even, and Abby looks uncomfortable after his statement. She is a mother above it all. 

“If you ever...” she starts but doesn't finish, flustered, concern and warning coming through in her voice. 

“I'd never hurt her”, that's all he feels he needs to say, “I'd never do anything to make her leave again”.

It's easy to be honest with Griffin women, must be a family trait. 

“She cares about you”, he is about to go when Abby says it. Stopped in his tracks, he wants to answer “I care about her too”.

Instead he looks at Abby one more time and nods. He understands. Bellamy Blake is the last person a mother would want for her daughter. Maybe even here, on Earth. But he's all they've got and he is not about to mess up what he and Clarke have going. Even if he doesn't completely get what it is. 

 

“When are going to tell her?” Octavia, on the other hand, is a bit of a know it all. She thinks she gets “it”.

“Tell her what?” he plays dumb, skinning a wild boar by the kitchen. There is blood and mess and smell – he's almost glad Harper is in charge of this task most of the time, not him. 

“You know”, she's chewing jerky, Octavia seems to be always eating.

“And you are gonna get so fat so very soon”, he gets hit on the back with a boot for this one. They laugh and Octavia shuffles half eaten jerky in her pocket. For later.

“It's not what you think”, he finally blurs it out, trying to get her of his back – literally. “Plus, I thought she'd be last person on your list for me”.

“You've had worse”, Octavia doesn't take verbal punches, “I've made my peace”.

Her eyes flash back to sorrow for TonDC and it doesn't escape Bellamy.

“You both did a lot of things that would've got you floated back on Arc”, she is serious now, no sign of laugher. “But she is also the reason most of us are still breathing. I can't argue with that.”

“What do you want me to say?” he's almost pissed off now, “That I...”, he doesn't know how to finish. Bellamy doesn't even know if putting it in words is good idea. 

“Sometimes these things better left unspoken, sis”, he sighs and gets up, cleaning his dirty hands with a rag, “Topic's closed”.

 

It takes another week or so for him to start obsessing about it. Her touch and smell get to him now. He looks at Clarke during his visits to the medbay, and it's something else, not what it used to be. The need he has is not just for companionship, forgiveness that they give each other. Light touches of hands under a table in canteen are more intimate, more wanting, at least for him – or maybe its always been this way. At night he can't fall asleep holding her in his arms like on the very first day of her return. She shifts next to him, she's actually a bit of an uneasy sleeper (what a shock), and the warmth of her body, her breath, so close, drives him short of insane. 

It's morning after two weeks since her appearance in the camp when her effect on him messes everything up. He's half asleep, stretching, trying to adjust himself on a short bed that could use at least a wider blanket. He's wearing boxers and a t-shirt, she's sleeping in a pair of shorts and cut off top, and there is too much of her skin against him. He is comfortable, cozy even, and in a sleepy daze he moves his hand from her waist to her thigh, drags his fingertips across the inside of her leg, kissing her naked shoulder, her neck, touching behind her ear with a gentle press of his lips. She turns around, half asleep herself, quietly moaning now, wrapping herself around him, legs tangling together, her lips colliding against his collarbone. And then their blanket slides on the floor. 

There is a brush of cold air and they are awake now, alert. 

Her eyes are wide open when she looks up at him, still touching him with her soft body. She seems afraid, and that look in her eyes makes Bellamy afraid too. 

“Fuck”, his hand is on his face now, covering eyes, shielding from her, “Fuck”.

 

They don't speak about it during the day, and for an instant Bellamy believes that it could be fine. They could pretend it never happened, and nothing  _really_ happened. But then he sees Clarke getting her things out of  _their_ room and moving them to Abby's. He doesn't try to talk her out of it, he knows he's wrong, and instead of asking her to let it go, forget it, Bellamy punches a hole in the wall of the greenhouse. There's blood, a lot of it, glass shuttering to the ground, and his heart is beating like crazy, like Clarke has jump-started it somehow.

He wraps his jacket around a bloody hand and walks away before someone sees him – he'll fix it up tomorrow, no harm done. He skips the hunt and gets a bunch of moonshine from Jasper. Bandages are tricky, but one of his shirts is looking rather worn now, and who needs more than two anyways. Bellamy pours moonshine all over the wound and screams. It's more of a grunt but it's cathartic enough. He knows now.

 

Next morning his wound is worse, there is an impressive gash between his knuckles, and his hand is so swollen he can't lift a spoon with a soup during breakfast. He waits for Abby to leave for a council meeting and makes his way to the medbay. Clarke is alone, all business, counting supplies in the one of the cabinets. He stands at the entrance, frozen again.

“Clarke” he finally says.

She turns, dropping her clipping board, startled, and he lets go of the chuckle – this is too fucking dramatic.

“Clarke”, he repeats, “I am in love with you”.

 

She seats him on the bed in the medbay and slowly takes off the bandages. Their knees are bumping together she's so close.

“I liked that shirt, you know”, she says eventually when cleaning out the wound. 

She's careful, gentle even, her braid touching his upper arm, making small hairs on his skin stand up.

“Hey”, Bellamy brushes her face with a free hand, making her look up at him. His fingers caressing her cheek, rubbing her bottom lip, “It's not the end of the world.”

And it isn't. He can live without being with her, he just can't live without her by his side. 

“I don't...” she pulls back, taking his hand off, “I don't deserve this, Bellamy. I don't deserve this, _us._ ”

And then he kisses her. She tastes like strawberries and  _Clarke,_ and he's ignoring the pain as he takes her by the hips and moves her closer, trapping between his legs. She's answering, her mouth unsure, but willing, and this is better than he could have imagined, better than he'd ever had it with anyone else. The bed makes a whiny, almost objecting cry when Clarke eventually ends up straddling his lap, and Bellamy moans, low and deep. He is actually happy now, who knew. The feeling evaporates quite quickly though as Abby enters, her awkward cough making Clarke almost fly off his lap. She mumbles something, face flushed, and pretty much runs out of the room without looking at her mother. 

Abby's hands are on her hips, a motherly power stance, and Bellamy gives her an embarrassed “This is not what it looked like”.

He points at his bad hand, and she sighs, getting the gloves out of the cabinet Clarke has been inspecting just a few minutes before.

“Don't even think about kissing me”, Abby hisses while working on his wound, and he can't help it and laughs, giving her the cheekiest smile he can afford without danger to his body parts. 

 

A part of him expects Clarke not to show up. Bellamy cleans their (his?) room as much as he can, but fails almost immediately – there is so little space and his possessions so limited there is nothing to tidy. He sits on the mattress then, book open, trying to read, but his mind keeps trailing off to the obvious – Clarke. He's ready to go and get her, wherever she is, this limbo driving him crazy, when she's finally opening the door, cheeks pink, fingers playing with a strap of the backpack on her shoulders. 

He looks at her and smiles – wide, book landing on the table as he gets up and walks towards her. 

“Clarke”, he slowly takes the backpack off, closing the door behind her.

 


End file.
